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She smoked a cigarette while she danced on the old bridge, that bridge we used to walk when we left the theater, but that night was not like others, something in her smile said that marginality was approaching, and I was not wrong.
After five flashes of moonlight, she sighed, and jumped without thinking into a gondola, I saw her get lost among the canals, I heard her shout that she loved the dolphins and whales of Venice, I witnessed how she mimicked the Adriatic Sea, and then the mermaid emerged to greet me, but I was not a worthy Ulysses, I could not ignore her melody, it was not the right place, the story should not be geographically perfect, so I tied myself to her whims until I went crazy.
She loved the dolphins and whales of Venice, just as I loved my absurd mania for clinging to what hurt me, my stupid obsession not to let go.
She smoked a cigarette, and me?